Running Away
by Kaihire
Summary: Chapter 7 + postlogue up! [KenRan/RanKen] Set after Weiss disbands. Ran ends up working in NYC and picks up the most unlikely client. (**COMPLETE** Ch. 7 of 7 uploaded.)
1. chapter 1

The store fronts in New York City were welcoming the holiday season with open arms. Fake trees shone brilliantly with blinking colorful lights and toxic silver tinsel. Lifeless mannequins smiled their plastic smiles at the crowds that walked relentlessly by outside, displaying the latest holiday fashions: expensive furs, horrid chunky sweaters in every atrocious color under the weakly-shining sun, boots to keep pedicured feet warm. Mellow versions of Christmas songs droned in every store, every elevator, every subway tunnel so that there was no escape: you had to acknowledge the fact that Christmas was approaching.

Ran pulled his black three-quarter-length coat a bit more firmly around his gaunt frame and stepped across the street, striding through the black slush that remained after the first snow of the winter. A taxi honked at him and the cabbie let out a litany of curses, but Ran had long since grown familiar with the daily assault at his senses that the city offered up like a gift wrapped in blood-stained paper.

"Mister!"

Ran kept walking, ignoring whoever was trying to catch his attention.  
"Hey, mister!"

Ran turned around, facing the homeless man huddled on the steps down to a subway

station.

"Spare some change, mister? Say, mister, ya even understand English?"

Ran vacillated, then scowled.

"Yes, I understand English." He'd lost his accent years ago. Did he still look like a foreigner? With his clothes by Dolce & Gabanna and his Prada boots, he looked like any other affluent resident of Manhattan.

"You just looked real exotic, 's all. Got any spare change?" 

"I don't carry cash." 

"...oh."

The grey-haired man sank back down into a huddle, losing interest. His tattered sweater didn't offer any protection from the elements. The violet-eyed man hesitated, then unbuttoned his thousand-dollar coat and draped it over the man's shoulders before resuming his walk.

"Hey, mister!"

Ran turned again. He wanted to get home already; the Armani dress shirt wasn't designed to retain body heat. A blast of hot wind from the tunnel ruffled the longer strands of red hair that framed his face. The homeless man smiled. 

"Thanks, mister. Hey, Merry Christmas." 

Ran just walked away.

His apartment was cold when he opened the door. The heating had been acting up all week, and for now it appeared that it only went on between 4 and 10 in the morning. Calling someone to complain was one of the many things on his list of things to do that kept getting pushed back by immediate responsibilities.

Ran shivered and turned on the lights, locking the door behind him and kicking off his boots by the door. Old habits died hard. He flipped on the answering machine as he entered the kitchen to turn on the coffee maker.

*Beeeeep.*

"Mr. Fujimiya, we here at Breck and Jones investing firm would like to cordially invite you to--" Ran deleted the message.

"Happy holidays, Mr. Fujimiya! Stockton Associates wishes you the warmest--" Delete again.

"Abyssinian, don't delete this message. We've been trying to get in--" Delete.

"Ran, it's Charlie. Don't forget that you have to be at the Embassy by eight tomorrow morning. I can count on you, right? Right. See ya." *Beeep.*

"Happy holi--!" Delete.

*Beep.* 

"No new messages."

Ran sighed, running a hand shakily through his hair as the scent of hazelnut coffee started to fill the apartment. He drank a cup, cleaned the coffee maker, contemplated making himself dinner, decided against it. 

The shower was uncomfortably hot but Ran scrubbed off the day's unimportant memories and wrapped himself in a thick black bathrobe. His bedroom was cold, dark, and uninviting, so he curled up in one corner of his plush couch and flipped on the TV. He fell asleep once more to the late edition of the news.

It was a long walk down to the embassy, but traffic in the city had long since angered the redhead enough that he was willing to part with any motorized means of transportation in favor of his own long legs. He got to his office on the fifth floor by 7:30, put a bulletproof vest on under his simple, clean-cut suit, tucked a .357 Magnum into the back of his pants so that it was hidden flush against the small of his back, ran his fingers through his hair to muss it up a bit, and finally walked down to Charlie's office. Charlie was actually Mr. Charles Natty, a slowly balding man in his early thirties who had a habit of wearing either a bad tie or a bad shirt, but miraculously never at the same time.

"Ah, good. You're early."

Charlie looked vaguely surprised. Ran just picked up a small jade Buddha that stood on the man's desk, traced it with his fingertips.

"I'm always early."

"...Yes, I suppose you are. Well, our client was even earlier."

Ran arched an eyebrow and set the statuette back down. He was used to waiting, sometimes several hours, for the clients to arrive.

Charlie specialized in matching bodyguards with important diplomatic clients. They would fly into New York City, get picked up by their bodyguard, perform whatever business they had, and get ushered back out. Standard fare. Charlie, however, was the only man in his field that hired only bodyguards who were at least bilingual. They served as both protection and interpreters. All of his clients were foreign, and it often made them much more comfortable to share a common language with the person guarding their overpriced asses.

Not to mention being very lucrative for Charlie.

"He called from the airport ten minutes ago, said his flight was early. He'll be waiting outside of Terminal B."

"Defining features?"

"None, really. He's about your age, somewhat shorter. Wears khakis. Your car is outside."

Traffic was as unpleasant as always. Ran maneuvered the unobtrusive silver Mercedes around several slower minivans filled with people, luggage, and presents. Flurries were starting to slowly drift out of the slate-gray sky and Ran flipped on the windshield wipers.

His client wasn't hard to pick out; he was the only person standing outside of Terminal B. Actually, he was the only person standing outside at all. His back was turned and Ran could see his shoulders hunched under a warm-looking blue ski jacket. Ran pulled the car up and stepped out, fixing his tie. He was dressed in cool greys today: a silvery-colored suit, darker silk dress shirt, and a satin tie pale enough to be nearly white. His earring was a simple amethyst stud.

Ran cleared his throat, shifting neatly to Japanese.

"Good morning. My name is Ran. If you have any luggage..."

His words trickled off as the man turned around, lips remaining parted in shock.

"Aya!"

Those wide, friendly brown eyes hadn't changed. Other things had, though. Ken's hair was slightly longer and strips of it had been bleached out by the sun to a dull gold color. His skin was more tan, almost bronze, and there was a single silver hoop high up in the cartilige of one ear. The smile was just as boyish as always, and Ken jogged the few paces between them to stand at a slight distance, rocking lightly on the balls of his feet. Sneakers. Some things never changed. Ran had the distinct feeling that if he was Yohji or Omi instead of himself, the brunette would have scooped him into a hug. As things stood, the younger man just stuffed his hands awkwardly in the pockets of his coat and grinned brightly.

"...hey..."

Eloquent as always. Ran just blinked.

"So when was the last time you were in Japan?"

Ken was inhaling a caramel mocha at a rather impressive pace. He inadvertantly got whipped cream on his nose, crossed his eyes trying to see it, blushed, and wiped it off with a tissue. Ran stirred his double espresso, of which he had yet to take a sip.

"Not since Weiss."

Ken nodded.

"Me neither. You kept in touch with anyone?"

Ran shook his head.

"I haven't, either. I sorta kept in touch with Yohji, but he actually ended up getting a modeling gig, so I guess we fell out of contact."

Ken chatted on amiably, as if there hadn't been years and thousands of miles between them. The brunette had tentatively stepped back into the soccer world and been promptly swept up to be the assistant coach of the Brazilian national team. That was the reason he was here: there was an international coaches' conference, both a general get-together to establish rules and bylaws, and a means of trying to make the international soccer federation more interesting for Americans. So it would be a lot of delegation, a lot of paperwork, and a lot of brainstorming.

"I kinda got dragged along," he muttered, mashing some of the whipped cream with a straw. "The head coach thought it would be good for me to mingle a bit with some of the other coaches. It's alright, I guess." He glanced up, smiling automatically.

"What've you been up to? I mean, I never saw you as the 'I'm gonna move to America' kinda guy."

Ran just shrugged. He took a slow sip of his espresso and said nothing. Ken frowned.

"Hey, come on. Are you just having a bad day, or are you always this silent? Back in the day you used to at least bark orders and stuff." He grinned, downing the rest of his mocha.

Ran motioned the waitress for their bill and started to stand up. Ken grabbed his wrist, tugging slightly.

"Aya, sit down. What the hell's your problem? Aren't you the least bit happy to see me?"

"My name is Ran." The redhead pulled his hand away but sat back down.

Ken huffed.

"Right. Ran. If you hate being in my presence that much, I won't waste your time. I don't really need a bodyguard, the Brazilians are just paranoid that I'd walk into a dark alley and get myself killed. Little do they know, ne?" His smile faded just a little. "Come on, Ay— Ran. I mean, it's Christmas time and my birthday's coming up and you're in New York! Can't you loosen up at least a little?"

Ran crossed his arms over his chest. 

"No."

Ken buried his face in his hands with a groan. Looks like the redhead hadn't changed a damn bit. It was going to be a long night.


	2. chapter 2

 n_n This should have been written a while ago, but you never know when the inspiration bunny's gonna bite. So. Here's the next chapter. Rating is still G (cue the resounding groans for lack of rough, sweaty, against-the-wall sex) for now, but it will go up, I pwomise. . Um.. disclaimers... If I owned Weiss, then the Gluhen designs would be a lot better! And I don't own Hoobastank either, though I do adore this song. 

Thank you for everyone who's been leaving reviews! ^_^ They inspire me to write more, and I appreciate the feedback a ton. So if you like it, hate it, or have any ideas for what you want to see happen, let me know! Can't promise anything, but I do listen to every comment. n_n

Oh, and finally, if you have any specific questions or anything that doesn't fit into the review category (such as fanart? I would love you forever!), I can be reached at lonestarfruit@yahoo.com or on AIM at 'Aya no Chigatana'. 

::shuts up and lets everyone enjoy the fic:: ^_^;

~Ko'~

//I don't want you to give it all up  
And leave your own life collecting dust  
And I don't want you to feel sorry for me  
You never gave us a chance to be

  
And I don't need you to be by my side  
To tell me that everything's alright  
I just wanted you to tell me the truth  
You know I'd do that for you

  
So why are you running away?  
Why are you running away?//

            ~Hoobastank, "Running Away"~

            Ran was duly impressed with how upbeat Ken could manage to stay around him. The brunette had put on his "game face" and was determined to make the best that he could of being reunited – however temporarily – with an old teammate. 

            "Hey, Ran, can we go see the Statue of Liberty?"

            "...Why?"

            But the brunette was stubborn, and there they were on the ferry. Ken leaned on the railing, watching the water splash against the hull, looking out at the ocean, gazing up at the sea gulls, very much enjoying himself.

            Ran had his lower back leaned against the railing and stared somewhat sullenly at the captain, who was trying to maintain a cheerful expression despite having a scary-looking foreigner staring him down as he steered.

            And of course Ken _would_ want to go all the way up into the torch.

            "This isn't in my contract," Ran growled somewhere around the 80 billionth step.

            "What, having fun?"

            Was Ken making fun of him? Dammit, but the brunette had already turned back around and doubled his pace. Ran considered tossing him off of the torch, but unfortunately the area was glassed in, probably with something just like that in mind.

            At least Ken wasn't dragging him around to every single tourist-trap store, though he did somewhat guiltily buy one of those spiky foam Statue of Liberty crowns.

            "For one of the guys on the team. His kid always wanted to come to America," he muttered.

            The walk around Central Park wasn't that unpleasant despite the frigid temperature – Ran should have packed a coat, but then, he had been expecting to just drive a dignitary back to a hotel like always – and Ken strartled him by expressing more interest in seeing the Metropolitan Museum of Art than the Central Park Zoo.

            "Zoos are depressing," the brunette chirped, walking up the stairs of the Met backwards. "Museums are cool."

            "...Since when did you start appreciating art, Hidaka?"

            Warm brown eyes seemed to close off just a little bit. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Ran."

            That gave the redhead something to think about for a while, though he had to admit that the museum was actually a place he enjoyed visiting. He hadn't gotten a chance to see it in a while, and he was drawn to the new section of the Egyptian wing.

            "Excuse me, sir?"

            Violet eyes blinked down at a rather pudgy, matronly cureator. 

            "..." was Ran's reply. The woman cleared her throat.

            "Are you by any chance Mr. Fujimiya?" He managed not to wince at the mispronunciation, though he'd been getting slowly desensitized to it. "I mean, Ms. Juanez told me to look for a gentleman with bright red hair and.."

            "Yes, I'm Fujimiya. What is it?"

            Maybe his credit card had bounced when he paid at the door? Not likely considering his insane spending limit, but...

            "We just wanted to express our gratitude for your generous donation." She made a sweeping gesture to the new displays. "This is what we did with the money. We just wanted to thank you once more."

            Ran looked vaguely uncomfortable and grumbled something along the lines of "I have nothing better to do with the money," though he noticed Ken, who had been staring into a glass-covered sarcophagus, looking at him strangely.

            The curaetor wandered off after a few more uncomfortable moments, and Ran pretended as if the exchange hadn't happened. Ken seemed content to not pry as he walked around and peered at anything that looked really really old. It wasn't until they were walking past the Monets upstairs that he nudged Ran with an elbow.

            "Ne, since when did you start giving money away rather than hoarding it?"

            "Hn." Ran crossed his arms over his chest and pretended to be completely engrossed in a dizzying swirl of watercolor that he couldn't force his brain to form into whatever image it was supposed to be.

            Ken chuckled, nudging him again. "Ne, you realize that you look like a porcupine when you do that?" He traced little jagged lines in the air around Ran with a finger. "Quill. Quill. Quill—Oi!"

            Ran was already walking away, expensive shoes making expensive sounds on the marble floor. Ken's sneakers, on the other hand, were silent as he ran up to the redhead.

            "I'm just kidding, you know."

            Violet eyes narrowed as they looked sideways at the brunette.

            "Hn."

            Ken rolled his eyes, then perked up a bit.

            "Hey, it's about time for dinner, isn't it?"

            Ran glanced down at his Rolex – silver, with a single small amethyst set in the "12" spot, not the usual diamond-encrusted variety – and nodded.

            "The company has working contracts with several up-scale restaurants in the area. There's a good Italian place—"

            "Why don't we just get cheap noodles in Chinatown?"

            Ran looked at Ken as if the brunette had just announced that he had just been crowned the Queen of England.

            "Pardon?"

            "Cheap noodles. I mean, doesn't this place have those? I don't like those fancy places, they're always so stuffy an' look at you as if you just rolled in off the streets."

            If Ken normally attended them after soccer matches, covered in bits of grass and mud, then Ran wouldn't be surprised if the restaurants looked at him down their noses. Not that he was about to say anything.

            "Chinatown is on the other end of Manhattan."

            "So?"

            "So... the Mercedes is too slow." Ran glanced down at his watch. "Considering the fact that there's going to be traffic starting in about five minutes. And it's too big to get around Chinatown."

            "You wanna walk, then?"

            Ran gave Ken another semi-dirty look.

            "No."

            He walked out of the museum and to the parking garage, waiting for Ken to get in before he turned the engine over. His apartment building wasn't far off, after all, and he had his own personal mode of transportation for when mass transit just wouldn't do. One hand steered the expensive car while the other flicked open a tiny cell phone and pushed a speed dial number.

            "Charlie, Ran. Have someone pick up the Mercedes at my place. ...Just need something faster. ...Hn." He hung up the phone without answering his boss' questions, neatly cutting across traffic to the sound of several engraged horns blaring.

            "Ah... Hey, Ran? Was that legal?"

            "Shut up."

            He could see Ken sulk out of the corner of his eye, but then he made a sharp turn the wrong way down a one-way street and the brunette just blanched, sinking deeper into his seat and clutching on to the armrest. Maybe the redhead was trying to kill him?

            The silver car screeched to a halt under the small canopy guarding the entrance of his apartment building from rain. A valet walked up to the window and Ran showed him his building ID, as well as his parking ticket. He got out of the car (followed by a somewhat shaky Ken shooting him dirty looks) and the valet drove off with the Mercedes.

            "So um... this doesn't look like a restaurant."

            Ran didn't deign that with a response. A moment later there was a loud roaring noise, and the valet pulled out of the garage on...

            "Hey, that's my bike!"

            Ran was about to comment on how Ken was going to get run over if he wasn't careful, but the brunette was already running up to it, grinning like a kid handed a lollipop. The valet gave him a weird look, then shrugged and walked back inside where it was at least warm and there were no crazy people.

            "Wait, why do you have this?"

            Ran walked over. Ken was already sitting on the bike, leaning over this way and that to check to see if everything was in order.

            "Kritiker wanted to scrap it." And Ran couldn't quite bring himself to let them. And now, he was sort of glad that he'd had it shipped over here with his other belongings.

            The redhead felt distinctly out of place, dressed as he was in a casual restaurant in a back alley in Chinatown. Ken was happily scarfing down a huge bowl of Cantonese noodles in broth and chugging back green tea once in a while at a rate that had the motherly waitress patting his shoulders happily.

            "Tell him is good he eat so much, growing boy need to eat!"

            Ran stifled a smirk with his hand and nodded.

            "Hmm?" Ken looked up quizzically around a mouthfull of noodles. "What'd she say?"

            For once the older man was happy that Ken didn't understand English, heavily accented or otherwise. "She said that she's glad you're enjoying the meal."

            "Oh! Yeah, it's great!" He turned around in his seat and waved happily to the waitress. "Thank you!"

            Ran rolled his eyes and picked at his tiny bowl of white rice with his chopsticks.

            "Hey, you wanna try these?"

            "No, I've had noodles before and---mmf!"

            "Good, aren't they?" Ken grinned, pulling his chopsticks back. Ran glared at him, angrily swallowing down the noodles that had just been stuffed in his mouth. Ken passed him a mug of tea, and the redhead took it, violet eyes still icing the brunette over the rim.

            "So you've got to babysit me 24/7, right?"

            "Unfortunately."

            Ken grinned, and something sparkled in chocolate eyes that Ran wasn't quite sure he liked.

            "Good. Since you need to loosen up, tonight we're going clubbing."


	3. chapter 3

Author's Babblings:  Ok, I was feeling doomy while writing this, so this part is a bit less cutesy-humor-fluff. Sue me. ^^; To tie up loose ends: yes, I'm aware that it's illegal to drive and talk on a cell phone at the same time in the fine state of New York... would Ran honestly care? ^_~ Ken in leather has been brought to you by the letters S, E, X, and Y, as well as several requests. General vagueness of description of Saks Fifth has been brought to you by the fact that I haven't been there in... uh, ever, thanks to being too broke. n_n They'd prolly sic the dogs on me.

That is all. ^_^; I promise more in-depth, meaningful conversation in the next chapter. ::watches her audience throw tomatoes and fall asleep:: 9_9;

//'Cause I did enough to show you that I  
Was willing to give and sacrifice  
And I was the one who was lifting you up  
When you thought your life had had enough

  
And when I get close, you turn away  
There's nothing that I can do or say  
So now I need you to tell me the truth  
You know I'd do that for you

  
So why are you running away?  
Why are you running away?//

            ~Hoobastank, "Running Away"~

            They were standing in front of Saks Fifth, and Ran was looking for an exit. A valet had taken the bike away, snow was starting to fall harder, and the last thing in the world the redhead wanted to do as go into the damned store.

            Which was precisely why Ken was tugging on his arm rather firmly.

            "Come _on_, Ran! I _know_ you don't own anything that you could wear to a club, an' I sure as hell am not goin' into one with you in a suit."

            "I'm not going clubbing."

            "Yes, you are."

            At that moment, Ran decided that his boss was going to die a painful, cruel death, and maybe Ken would share a similar fate. He finally let the brunette drag him into the store.

            "Mr. Fujimiya!"

            Ran wanted to shoot himself as the store manager floated over on expensive-looking Italian heels. She was short and incredibly fit, dressed in something pricey though all you could really see were the huge emeralds around her throat and dangling off of her ears. Her lipstick was a classy shade of off-red.

            "Welcome back! We haven't seen you in the longest time. How _are_ you?" she asked, with feeling, as she placed one hand on Ran's shoulder. The redhead forced himself to take a steadying breath. Ken, on the other hand, laughed.

            "Damn, Ran. You really get around. Is there a place in this city where they don't know you by name?"

            Ran shot him a glare, then forced himself to level a polite smile at the manager.

            "Business has kept me busy."

            "I know how that works." She nodded understandingly, the way a therapist might. "Who's your friend?"

            "Client," Ran corrected, perhaps a bit too fast. "He wants to go clubbing and I have to accompany him, so..."

            "We'll take good care of you." _And attempt to bleed your credit card dry_. The manager smiled warmly and gestured to the escalator. 

            "Please head on upstairs. I'll let them know you're coming. Should we have someone on hand so that you don't have to translate?"

            Ran nodded slowly. At least that way he could go get something conservative while leaving Ken in the more flashy department. "Japanese or Portuguese, if you will."

            "Ah, wonderful. We just got a new sales associate from Brazil."

            Ran thanked the woman politely, then grabbed Ken's upper arm and dragged him away from the store directory towards the escalator.

            "Hey!" The brunette yanked his arm free with a mild glare, then perked, stepping backwards onto the moving stairs. The whole store was lit in warm shades of holiday gold, making Ken's tan skin practically glow. "I haven't been in a store this big since the team dragged me out to Rio."

            "No."

            "But sir, it's really the latest in club fashio—"

            "I don't care."

            "If you'd at least try to—"

            "No."

            "I understand that you may not be comfortable with—"

            "I said no."

            "So. What do you think?"

            "Eh... 's kinda on the expensive side, isn't it?"

            "Well, yes. But it's a very good look for you."

            "I dunno... I never really saw myself as the black leather type, ya know?"

            "How about this?"

            "No."

            "And this?"

            "..."

            "..."

            "........"

            "...For the love of god, just try this on before I fling myself off the damn building!"

            "I think it's perfect." The tall Brazilian's reflection beamed back at Ken in the mirror. The brunette had a good view of himself, as well, and he wasn't sure that that was a good thing.

            "Uh... you think so?"

            "Yes." She picked an imaginary bit of thread off of Ken's shoulder. After much prodding, poking, and stuffing into various outfits, Ken had finally just given up on expressing much of his own opinion. After all, making him look good was what the woman was paid for, right? Right. Plus, she was a fan of the soccer team. It didn't take much to win Ken over.

            He turned slightly, trying to look at the image in the mirror in an impersonal manner. The t-shirt he was wearing was bright yellow with a Brazilian flag on the front. It was eerily soft and clung snugly enough to highlight his mucles but at the same time gave the impression of being loose. The t-shirt wasn't the problem.

            It was the pants.

            The black, jeans-cut, ridiculously expensive Italian kidskin leather pants, to be specific. They rode just a bit too low on Ken's hips though they weren't tight, fitting rather like... well... his favorite pair of worn-in blue jeans. Except that they made the slightest rustling noise when he moved, and the fact that they were leather. Ken was all about the wholesome boy-next-door look. He wasn't sure how he liked himself in leather.

            "They really make the most of your butt. You have a really great butt," the saleswoman assured him. Ok, yeah. He had to grin at that. Boy-next-door, sure. But he'd spent the last several months living with a whole teamful of brazen, loud, extremely gregarious guys, and it was hard to stay innocent when they dragged you out to parties, practically force-fed you liqor, and made you get a piercing. That and the nude beaches. The nude beaches were very educational. ...but at least Ken could boast of a full-body tan!

            "Heh. Alright, this works. I should prolly check up on Ran. I wonder if he's killed the girl that was helping him..."

            Violet eyes blinked. Twice. And once more, all in rapid succession.

            "I..."

            The saleswoman met his gaze in the mirror and sent him a 'go ahead, try me' glare that made him shut his mouth.

            One thing at a time. But where to start, when everything was so... gods. So _Youji_.

            Shoes. The shoes were safe. Black leather, silver buckle, very Manhattan and very modest. He owned a similar pair.

            The jeans were... not safe. They were dark indigo, faded lightly for a 'washed a ton of times' effect that managed not to look fake. They were what the woman had called a "slim fit" which meant that the bottoms weren't flared, just the slightest bit boot-cut. They were what Ran would consider three sizes too small. They were painted on. Yet they managed not to cut off his circulation or cause him immense amounts of pain.

            That was probably why they cost more than anything made of cotton, plant dyes, and metal rivets should ever cost.

            The shirt was plain indecent, in Ran's opinion. Black mesh, sleeveless, with seams at the top that suggested that it had started out as a baseball tee before its designer had overdosed on heroin. It wasn't flashy, but it didn't have to be. The color contrasted brilliantly with his pale skin, and the denim color offset his hair. 

            "I look like a cheap whore," he finally hissed.

            "You're going to a club. This is what you're wearing." 

            And something about the past years mixed with the expression in the woman's eyes—and his current lack of a katana to defend himself with—made Ran scowl, yet not argue.

            Ken's jaw dropped. He just _stared_ as the redhead descended down the escalator, oblivious to the turned heads and appreciative looks cast his way by more than a handful of female shoppers. A petite, conservatively-dressed sales assistant stood behind him, looking frazzled and carnally proud at the same time. 

            Violet eyes finally noticed at least the one set of brown taking in his new look, and Ran had to resist the childish urge to cross his arms over his chest and sulk. If Ken so much as commented on _anything_ about the outfit, he was going to get punched in the face. Maybe the brunette picked up on that, because he just shook his head as Ran approached.

            "Damn. I didn't know you were that thin under that suit."

            Thin? Ran looked down at himself. Was he? He never really bothered with a mirror except when he was fixing his hair in the morning, and by that time he was usually at least mostly dressed.

            "I mean, 's not a bad thing, just... you know. I figured you had more padding." Ken grinned.

            Ran's eyes narrowed. "Shu—"

            "Yeah, yeah, I know. 'Shut up, Hidaka'." Ken's grin broadened, his impression of Ran's gruff voice conveying the emotions that Ran was feeling—namely, embarrassment and irritation—surprisingly well. "Let's just call it a truce an' grab dinner. Takes a lot of fuel to keep dancing all night."

            The redhead started to nod, then froze.

            ...dancing?!

            Yes, dancing.

            Ken pushed Ran through the doorway and the redhead just stood there, trying to take in the sight of dozens of bodies pressed tightly together and gyrating to a pouding bass rhythm emphasized by throbbing strobe and colored lights.

            "You need a drink!" Ken hollered over the overwhelming sound of the music, dragging Ran towards the bar.

            "I don't dri—" but a shot glass was thrust into his hand and Ken lifted his own in silent toast, and the redhead felt compelled to face up to the challenge.

            It only burned his throat the first three times or so. To be honest, Ran didn't know what the hell he was shooting. The only alcohol he ever imbibed was wine, and that was rare and far between. The liquor currently buzzing into his psyche could have been vodka or whiskey or rum or snake venom for all he knew.

            Ken didn't look the worse for wear, his grin just as broad as before.

            "That should hold you," he yelled over the music (which was, coincidentally, starting to finally sound like music and not just noise). "Now come on, it's no fun if you don't dance."

            "I don't da—"

            "Tonight you do. Come on, Aya."

            "My name is—" but that was futile, he was already being dragged out past the writhing bodies into the middle of the dance floor where the music was at its loudest and the press of sheer sweaty _humanity_ was almost overwhelming. Almost. It would certainly have been had he not had... whatever it was he'd had to drink.

            It wasn't enough, however, to teach Ran to dance. He just stood there, looking somewhat drunk and most certainly lost. Rather irate, as well. Ken laughed.

            "Come on, Ran, just dance! It's not that hard."

            "No."

            "Aww, come on. It's alright to loosen up for once. You trust me, right?"

            And suddenly he was floored by an earnest chocolate stare, a silent challenge. Violet shifted away.

            "I don't know how."

            "What?"

            "I don't know how to dance."

            Ken grinned.

            "You serious?"

            "Yes, I'm serious!"

            "Ok, ok..." The brunette nibbled on his lower lip throughtfully for a moment, his body unconsciously moving in time with the music. Seemed that Ken was a natural, or at least had had enough nights out on the town to become one.

            "Ok, it's easier if I compare it to something, right..? So.. Hey! It's just like swordfighting."

            Ran blinked.

            The brunette nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, no. Ok, hang on." Ken stepped fractionally closer, placing both hands on Ran's shoulders. "Let's see if I can make this make sense." He pushed lightly and Ran leaned away from the contact. "Now you're on the defense end, right?" Ken leaned back a bit, pulling Ran's shoulders with him. "And now you're on the offense end. So.. just follow my lead, 'kay?"

            The redhead nodded numbly, trying to catch Ken's words over the pulsing beat. The brunette started to dance slowly in time with the music, and Ran attempted to follow. Ken pushed, Ran leaned away. Ken's hips twisted along with the rhythm, and Ran's twisted in the mirror reflection. Violet eyes slipped closed; it was easier to feel the music when the visual distraction of all those lights was taken out of the equation, especially now that the dance was speeding up.

            Parry, parry... This wasn't so hard. Ken was right, it really was just like a sword fight. Thinking of it that way also made it easier to account for the fact that Ken's hands had somehow managed to shift from his shoulders to linked around the back of his neck, and his own had moved to rest lightly on the brunette's hips.

            Had Ran not imbibed the amount of alcohol that he had, he might have wondered how the hell he'd gotten himself into this situation. Said situation meant dancing rather closely with someone that, in another life of sorts, he had killed side by side with and never attempted to associate with at any other time.

            The alcohol was doing a nice job of dulling things. Yes, this was a strange sitation, one that he should perhaps be thinking about more thoroughly. But the contact points between his body and Ken's were all that were keeping the word from spinning around in circles as if it was one giant cosmic toilet, so he wasn't thinking any further than necessary.

            Until the contact points suddenly disappeared and Ran's eyes opened. A girl with short blue hair had snagged Ken away, pressing herself against him in a rather insistent manner. Violet eyes darkened slightly and Ran backed off, sobering in one cold moment as he forced his way through the crowd towards the exit.

            It was all too much. He never should have let himself get dragged out here, despite the fact that Ken was his client and he hadn't had a choice. A nagging voice told him that yes, Ken was his client and therefore should not be alone in there right now, but a harsher one countered that Ken was also an assassin, and survival instincts like that never died.

            The music was just a distant thrum in the background. Ran took the stairs up instead of down, absently picking the lock on a door that let him out onto the flat, snow-covered roof. The snow was ankle-deep, not enough to cause any problems as the redhead walked silently over to the edge and sat down, one leg resting on the roof and the other dangling over dead space. He could see his breath, little cloud-like puffs of it, and his skin was quickly getting numb from the temperature. The snow had stopped falling and the clouds had cleared enough that he could just barely make out the triad of stars that made up Orion's belt through the nighttime glow of city lights. One pale hand lifted, and Ran numbly traced the constellation in the sky.

            A bell somewhere solemnly tolled midnight, and the redhead glanced down at his watch. He read the date, feeling the chill of the night seep almost soothingly down through his body.

            "Happy birthday, Ken."


	4. chapter 4

Author's Babblings: First and foremost, overwhelming apologies for how long this took me. X_x Blah blah blah, usual excuses about life getting in the way, but dammit, it did! That was aided by the fact that I just didn't know where to take this and how to take it there. 

At long last, though, the damn fic's back to writing itself. ^^; Like I said, I never leave a fic unfinished, and I stand by that promise. . As always, comments and questions and even flames (w00t) are much appreciated. I can be reached in a myriad of ways (AIM: Aya no Chigatana; e-mail: lonestarfruit@yahoo.com, LJ: reviews!!) so please feel free to bug me, I don't bite. Hard. ^_~

Oh, and for whoever keeps telling me to have Ran and Ken „just bonk already" or something to that extent... -.-  is all I have to say.

WARNING: o.o; Ah, shounen-ai themes, Ran in ass-pants, bad clubbing music, angst, and more angst.

//Is it me, is it you?  
Nothing that I can do  
To make you change your mind  
Is it me, is it you?  
...Why do you run away... won't you

Nothing that I can do

...tell me why do you run away...  
Is it a waste of time?

Is it me, is it you?  
Nothing that I can do  
To make you change your mind

  
So why are you running away?  
Why are you running away?//

            ~Hoobastank, "Running Away"~

            "Hey, uh, you're being too friendly there.." Dammit, why hadn't he ever joined his teammates in English lessons? Brown eyes narrowed a little and Ken forced a smile, trying to pry the blue-haired girl's hands off of his butt. She had a rather insistent grip, though, and Ken finally had to hiss "No!" while practically crushing her wrists to get her to let go, which she did with a pout. A final dirty look and she was gone back into the crowd, and Ken ran his fingers through his hair in annoyance.

            "Hey Ran, I thought you were supposed to keep me sa--.. Shit." Where was the redhead, anyway? Brown eyes scanned the crowd quickly but he couldn't spot Ran, not with all the flashing lights and gyrating bodies. He felt a slight shiver trace its way down his spine and made his way to the fringes, keeping close to the wall as he started to circumnavigate the dance floor. He stopped at the bar, but Ran wasn't there, either.

            "Why does this stuff always happen to me?" he muttered miserably. "Alright, gotta think. If I was a crabby, moody ex-assassin, where would I go?" Downstairs was one option, but they'd arrived on the bike and Ken doubted that Ran would just abandon him completely (ok, so he was an optimist). The floors below held only offices that were closed at night, so that left one choice: the roof. It didn't take Ken too long to find the right door, though he did get snagged by two more semi-drunk girls before he finally escaped into the stairwell. Seems that New Yorkers liked to party just as hard as Brazilians.

            He took the stairs slowly, wary eyes glancing around at the peeling paint on the walls and the dim lightbulb flickering high overhead. The stairwell was silent except for his footsteps and the dull, vibrating hum of the music behind him, buffered slightly by walls and doors.

            Opening the door at the top of the stairs brought with it a blast of arctic wind (well, maybe not real Arctic wind, but he was used to the tropics!) and Ken shivered, wrapping his arms around himself as he stepped out onto the snowy roof, making sure to prop the door open with a broken brick so that it wouldn't leave him stuck out here to turn into a nice human popsicle. 

            Speaking of human icicles... He spotted the redhead right away. Ran was perched on the ledge on the other side of the flat, snow-covered roof. Bare shoulders were frosted with a thin layer of snow, as was the uncannily crimson hair. He didn't turn around as Ken approached, though the brunette wasn't trying to be quiet and therefore was making quite a lot of noise.

            "What're you doing up here?" He stopped just behind the redhead, reaching out to brush a bit of snow off of his shoulder. "You idiot! You're gonna freeze to death!" Ran must have been sitting out here for a few minutes in order for that much snow to pile up on him, and his shirt was about as much protection from the elements as gauze would have been. "Come on, let's go inside."

            "No."

            So it was back to the age-old battle between two stubborn men. Ken hugged himself. 

            "Dammit, Ran! It's _cold_ out here, an' if you haven't noticed, you're turning into a snowman!"

            "I don't care."

            "Well, I do!" He tugged on Ran's arm – damn, his skin was freezing! – though so far the redhead wasn't budging. 

            "...Do you?"

            Brown eyes blinked. Clearly the alcohol had adversely affected the way the older man processed things. And it was a depressant, after all...

            "Yeah, I do. Come on, we'll get you inside and get the bartender to make you something warm."

            "No."

            "You're gonna freeze!"

            "What does it matter?"

            "It matters 'cause I'm gonna have to stand out here and freeze _with_ you, and I'm not really ready to kick the bucket just yet, thanks." He tugged again on Ran's arm, and the redhead finally turned around. Bottomless violet eyes looked up at Ken, and Ran started to say something. Ken cut him off.

            "Hey, we can talk all night if it helps, I'm serious. Just not out here. I promise you'll have my undivided attention. Alright?"

            Ran looked somewhat miffed, as if whatever he'd been about to say had been very deep, depressing, and vital to the existence of all life on earth. He allowed Ken to tug him to his feet, though he swayed just a bit – it was the fact that he was cold, of course, and not that he had had too much alcohol. Right. – before steadying. It was a slow walk back down the dimly-lit stairs with Ran leaning on Ken just a bit and Ken keeping an arm around the redhead's waist to make sure he didn't pitch them both head-first down the stairs. Ran didn't want to go back inside the crowded dance club, but Ken pulled him in by force and sat him down at the bar. The bartender wandered over and Ken made Ran tell him to get some hot coffee.

            "Alright, now why the hell were you out there?"

            "...." Ran stared down into his coffee mug. Ken waited. Ran continued to stare in silence.

            "Ran, hey, wake up. What's wrong?"

            "...what does it matter?"

            Ken huffed. "Look, we may never have hung out an' baked cookies together or anything, but I still thought we were _friends_ on account of how we'd kept each other's asses from gettin' killed more than once and—"

            "No, I mean... what does it matter?" The redhead waved his hand in a large circle, indicating the world at large. Ken sat down heavily in his seat and blew his bangs out of his eyes. 

            "Eesh. Uh... that's pretty deep... Wanna start with what brought on that train of thought?"

            Ran shrugged. "I just got to thinking."

            Ken grinned lightly, picking up Ran's coffee to take a sip. "You're what, 22? 23? And you only got to thinkin' about stuff _now_?"

            "...shut up."

            The brunette's grin broadened, and he play-punched Ran in the shoulder. "See? That's better. Now you just have to glare at me an' tell me I'm an idiot, an' everything'll be fine."

            "Hidaka..."

            "Yeah?"

            "...thanks."

            The brunette found himself momentarily floored. He blinked, rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, brushed his persistant bangs out of his eyes.

            "Hey, there's nothing to thank me for."

            "Thanks anyway."

            "...you're welcome."

            Ran took his coffee back and took a slow sip of it, grimacing a bit.

            "Hey, Ran?"

            "...what?"

            "How come you let that scary girl drag me off?"

            Violet eyes blinked comically. "You went willingly."

            "She was gonna rip my clothes off if I didn't! I mean, I don't even speak basic survival English like, 'Let go, you're scary'."

            A corner of the redhead's lips twitched as if he was fighting off a smile, but managed not to.

            "An' she was groping me. It wasn't cool."

            "Hn." Once more, that subtle curving at a corner of Ran's lips.

            "You're actually supposed to drink that, y'know? Not just inhale the caffeine fumes."

            Violet eyes narrowed in a mild glare but the redhead did as he was told and took a long sip of the coffe.

            "This coffe is horrible."

            "Of course it is! It's bar coffe, 's supposed to burn a hole in your stomach and double as engine de-greaser." 

            "It's working."

            Ken grinned, then perked.

            "Hey, they're actually playing a good song!"

            "...great." Ran continued to sip on his coffee.

            "Come on!" Ken grabbed his arm and hauled him away from the bar – barely giving him enough time to set the coffee mug down – back to the dance floor.

            "Ken, I don't want to—"

            But it was already too late, and Ran was too worn out to protest. This time Ken leaned back against him, resting his head back against the redhead's shoulder and closing his eyes, completely trusting Ran to keep him upright. The older man didn't know quite how to respond to this slower dance style, but finally opted to just wrap his arms loosely around Ken's waist and move in rhythm with the brunette's body.

            After a moment, he realized it was actually sort of nice. Ken's back was a warm presence against his chest and the brunette had relaxed into a rather limp state, soft breath tickling the side of Ran's throat. The redhead's hips followed the slow sway of Ken's, languid and casual. The press of people all around them was rather claustrophobic and Ran could have sworn that more than once stray hands had reached out to touch him, but whenever he turned to try glaring whoever it was down, they were gone. Ken kept him distracted enough to make him a vulnerable target. The brunette's hands slowly crept up, linking behind the back of Ran's neck and thereby pulling Ken even more snugly against the taller ex-assassin. The scent of warm liquor assailed his senses, mixed with crisp cologne and a softer touch of something like soap or clean laundry. 

            The brunette's lips accidentally brushed against the side of Ran's throat, causing a heated shiver to trace its way down his spine. The fact that this was followed by a soft, warm kiss against his pale skin made him rethink how accidental it had been, though he was too busy tensing up to think much about anything.

            "Ken, what are you—...mmn..." Not fair. Ken had chosen to suck languidly at a pulse point and the various fireworks going off throughout the redhead's body made speech impossible, though Ran's brain was trying to throw buckets of mental ice-water at him. This was beyond ludicrous. What the hell was he doing dressed as he was, half-drunk, getting hit on by his ex-teammate in a club, of all places? 

There were all sorts of factors, of course. Ran had perfect control over himself. He didn't need to give in to what his body was telling him it wanted, because things got too complicated and there were too many lies to tell. So Ran hadn't even considered letting anyone close enough to get physical since he'd arrived in the Big Apple. Freezing-cold showers were all his body ever earned when it started getting testy with him.

Then there was the fact that this was a man. Ran wasn't gay. At least, he was damned sure he wasn't gay. He'd had plenty of adolescent fantasies about girls when he was younger, and had never given his own sexuality a second glance once he realized that it could be controlled, locked away, and ignored. Granted, being an assassin made you see past gender to the core of a person, because that's all that mattered when lives were on the line. It didn't matter if you had more testosterone or estrogen floating around in your body as long as you watched your partner's back. But he wasn't an assassin anymore, just a bodyguard who was trying to escape his past.

The most pressing issue was that Ken was his friend, or at least as close to a friend as Aya had let anyone be. But now Aya was Ran, and it seemed that Ken was someone else, too. The easily embarrassed, sometimes awkward young man had been replaced with a more graceful, more mellow carbon copy of himself. Ken had been running the show since their reacquaintance, now that Ran thought about it. Ran would have just picked up where they left off as far as interaction went, but Ken hadn't allowed him to sink as fully into his normal iciness as he would have liked.

But wasn't this getting just a bit too friendly?

"Ken..." Ok, it took him more effort than he'd readily admit to get that out past the moan that wanted to squeeze out of his throat instead. His body was having one hell of a great time now that his mind was occupied enough to not be able to fully control it. He had to think about the ice again, about snow, about cold metal and icicles and cold showers and holy shit, he was going to have a mark there later but it felt so damn good... and that was the problem. Ran's solution was ice, cold, shutting down his emotions. Ken was fire, sunny warmth, passionate outbursts.

"Ken, stop..."

Warm lips paused, then pulled back.

"What's wrong?" The brunette's voice had a slightly throaty undertone.

"This isn't right." Ran shifted his hands to Ken's hips and tried to nudge him away. Ken's hands remained locked at the back of his neck.

"You're not into men?"

"No. ...I don't know. That's not it."

"You're not into me?"

"No. You're my friend. This isn't right."

"You said that already."

"Because it's true!"

"You didn't shove me away."

"...what?"

"If you were really against this, you wouldn't be dancing with me. Your pulse wouldn't have kicked up a notch, and you wouldn't have made that little sound in the back of your throat."

Ran was glad that it was dark, because there was a rather pink tint settling across the bridge of his nose.

"I was just distracted."

"Yeah, an' half-drunk and half-frozen. You still didn't shove me away."

"That doesn't mean anything."

"Shut up, Ran."

Violet eyes blinked, and this time he tried more firmly to nudge Ken away. The brunette didn't budge.

"Hidaka..."

Ken's only response was to nuzzle against the redhead's jawline and nip lightly at the pale skin. "If it helps, I'm half-drunk, too. Still doesn't make it 'not right'. Ask me again."

"...ask you what?"

"To stop, if that's what you really want."

"Stop."

Ken's hands dropped away, and the brunette moved out of Ran's immediate personal space, turning to shoot an unreadable look at the other man. 

"...drive me to my hotel. I think I've had enough for one night."

*****ahem*** **I said there'd be angst. ^^; ::skitters away::


	5. chapter 5

Author's Babblings: ^_^; Thanks for not giving up on me, guys. I did promise I'd write faster, ne? Oh, and I probably should have done this a long time ago, but somehow got too caught up in the chaos of writing to even think of it. 9_9; Pardon me for being such a moron... at any rate, from now on I'm going to start replying to my reviews, because hell, it's really rude not to! You guys take the time not only to read the fic but also to give me your opinions on it, and I've been bitchy enough to not reply. ^^; It ends now.

Review Replies:

-+- Katarzyna K Yue: I'm all for a KenKen with more backbone! He's far too often portrayed as a weepy ultra-uke. The guy's emotional, yeah, but he's not a total sap. Also, seeing as Ran is as repressed and withdrawn as he is, it really –is- up to Ken to take the initiative. ^^

-+- Seph Lorraine: Hai, Ken's isn't really the clubbing type as far as the canon goes... but then again this version of him has spent a bunch of time in and out of Brazil's party centrals with a bunch of rowdy guys, plus he's been in a much more open and relaxed culture. What's to say he couldn't start to get into more extroverted activities? ^_~ Besides, he has an ulterior motive: getting Ran to loosen the hell up!

-+- Lady Dragon: ^^; Nope, I haven't given up, just had a lot of shit tossed at me at once and that caused the creative core of my brain to go into hiding while I battled reality. .;; Ken's got his work cut out for 'im, that's for sure. But has Siberian ever stepped down from a challenge..? ^_~

-+- Carter Tachikawa: n_n I'm gonna try kicking myself back into gear and update sooner. This was way too long a gap. I'm so glad people are still bothering to read it! ^^

-+- fei: o_o; Oi! Thwapping Ran would be about as hazardous to your health as poking a sleeping, rabid grizzly bear in the eye with a sharp stick. Glad the angst is alright with you, and at this point, I have no idea what the ending might have in store for 'em. ^^; This fic is its own entity and I just offer the fingers to type it.

-+- Marty: I'm the god of schoolwork? Will you sacrifice a small goat to me? No? Damn. Vivit lingua latina~! You're doing the Iliad, I did the Aeneid. Isn't the pain of all that obscure language just glorious? If I ever have to read anything about „pius aeneas" ever again, I might stab myself, and yet it's so much better than Catullus. You're prolly reading it in English though, yeah? Now imagine reading the raw Latin. n_n;; As for the rabid monkey love.. *cough* I'll see what I can do.

-+- Corrupt Prodigy: n_n; Maybe if we hand him a flame-thrower...

Disclaimer: All I own is a pencil and a pair of socks. ;_; You no takie my socks, ok.? Weiss belongs to rich people who can afford them. Hoobastank belongs to itself (though I wanna nibble on the vocalist..).

Rating: PG-13 for.. um, you'll see, and no, it's not what you think. ^^;

//...What is it I've got to say...  
So why are you running away?  
...To make you admit you're afraid...  
Why are you running away?//

         ~Hoobastank, "Running Away"~

            Ran woke up the next morning with the beginnings of what was soon to become the most spectacular headache he'd had in recent history. Unbeknowst to him, it was actually a mild hangover. But Ran didn't get hangovers. Right.

            Violet eyes blinked up at the crack in the ceiling and the redhead reminded himself, yet again, to have it patched before it got worse. Number 5,003 on his list of things to get done that he never got around to. The crack seemed to smirk at him.

            His alarm clock went off a minute later, blasting harsh rock music into the sun-warmed silence of his bedroom. A pale hand reached out to carefully turn off the tuner and Ran finally sat up, grimacing at a dull ache low in the pit of his stomach. The organ wasn't very pleased with how Ran had been treating it of late, and was responding by trying to digest itself. Ran decided he should eat breakfast and stood up, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair and walking to the kitchen naked except for a pair of rather evil-looking grey bunny slippers. After all, the kitchen tiles were prone to being freezing.

            The refridgerator was small and unadorned by even a single magnet. Inside was a bottle of soy sauce, a small jar of cherry preserves (half-empty), and a strawberry yogurt. Ran winced. Looked like it was time to go shopping again. He reached for the yogurt and ate it leaning back against the kitchen counter, violet eyes absently looking out the window at the apartment building across the street. New York looked grey yet again. This time it was an irritated, muffled grey warning of more snow at some point later. The sun tried to break through the clouds half-heartedly but only managed to do so enough to give everything a painful, neon glare. A fat pigeon landed on the windowsill, fluffed its feathers, and looked Ran up and down.

            *Coo,* said the pigeon. 

            The phone rang, startling the pigeon into an awkward lift-off. Ran tossed the yogurt container in the trash and the spoon into the sink, and picked up the phone.

            "Hey, Ran. It's Charlie. You gonna get here soon? I've never known you to be late."

            "I'm not coming today."

            Shocked silence vibrated over the line. "...what?"

            "I'm not coming in today."

            "Look, I don't know what your issue is, but this Mr. Hidaka needs to get to the conference today, and you need to watch his back."

            "..'Mr.' Hidaka can take care of himself."

            Ran could practically see Charlie rub his thumb and forefinger over the bridge of his nose, his brain repeating a silent litany of 'I don't need this.. I don't need this..'

            "I'm assuming you have a problem with the client."

            "You could say that."

            "...alright. Look, I'll double your pay for the day. Just show up."

            "This isn't about mon—"

            "Just show up, Fujimiya." Click. Charlie had hung up the phone. 

            Ran glared at the receiver in his hand before hanging up, as well. A tapping sound broke through the dark cloud suddenly hanging over his head, and he turned to the window.

            *Coo,* insisted the pigeon once more.

            "Fuck you," replied Ran, and went to his room to get dressed.

            Ken was waiting for him just outside the hotel lobby. He was dressed in a tidy white button-down shirt (untucked), a team jacket, cargo khakis, and rather scuffed-up sneakers that completely clashed with the rest of what he was wearing. His hands were stuffed in his pockets and he looked somewhat more reserved than usual. He also looked like he hadn't slept.

            "Hey." The greeting was completely unenthusiastic and bland, just uttered from politeness or habit. Ran didn't reply, just glanced over his shoulder to make sure the brunette was following him. The morning rush was in full, glorious swing. Cars honked and belched dark smoke, bike messengers wove in and out of traffic, pedestrians stampeded across streets regardless of the flashing 'do not walk' lights. The city was in its general morning upheval, except that everything was dramatized by the sparkling Christmas lights, the blaring music, and the heavy shopping bags. The whole season only made Ran feel more like a Scrooge, but what did it matter?

            The convention was being held at the Waldorf-Astoria, and therefore the normally stuffy and dignified hotel was in a state of startled upheval. Valets couldn't keep up with the long line of expensive cars and annoyed passengers.

            "This is why we walked," Ran said, his voice quiet and barely discernible over the humming din of the city. Ken just grunted, brown eyes brightening a bit as he started looking around at the people who were arriving.

            "Hey, that's the captain of Italy's national team!" Admiration was clear in Ken's voice, and Ran rolled his eyes, half-expecting the brunette to go darting across the red carpet to talk to the man. Instead Ken just grinned like a kid on a sugar rush. "I'm gonna make sure my team kicks his ass at the championships."

            Ran didn't reply, just ushered the brunette inside. A tall, dark-skinned man yelled Ken's name with a heavy accent and waved, and the brunette called something back in what Ran assumed was Portuguese, jogging through the crowd to approach him. The redhead followed along a few paces behind Ken, violet eyes darting around. He didn't like large crowds, and this one was no exception.

            The older man seemed to be the head coach, and he and Ken got instantly lost in conversation. Ran shadowed them as they wandered from the main lobby towards one of the conference rooms. There was a long, glossy black table in the middle of the room, surrounded by plush-looking chairs. There were small glass vases arranged around the table, each one holding a different country's flag. Ken and his boss sat down by the Brazilian one and Ran leaned back against a wall, flicking a piece of imaginary dust off of his black Dolce & Gabanna suit and settling in for a long, boring day.

            By the time the various activities were concluded for the day, Ran was not only bored out of his mind but had learned more about soccer politics than he'd ever have cared to know. He'd spent most of the day playing interpreter, except for the events in which little computer screens automatically translated the speakers' words into all the various languages native to the officials gathered inside. Most of the people at the convention spoke English, though, on top of their native languages, but at least enough of them spoke Spanish that Ken was able to talk directly to a few groups, giving Ran a much-needed coffee break.

            "That was cool, don't you think?"

            Ran looked up from his musings, startled to be looking into a pair of friendly brown eyes.

            "Not really."

            The brunette's expression fell, then grew sheltered once more.

            "Do you always have to be such a dick, Fujimiya?" He picked up his jacket and slung it over his shoulder. Ran stood up, but Ken shook his head.

            "I can make it back to my hotel alone. I don't need a babysitter."

            "I'm paid to make sure you're safe."

            Ken shot him a disgusted look and walked out. Ran hesitated, then just sat back down to finish his coffee. Ken had been an assassin; he could take care of himself quite well, and it's not like the walk from the Waldorf to the Hyatt at Grand Central was all that complicated. Ran picked up his cell phone and called his favorite Vietnamese restaurant. He could at least pick up some good take-out on his way home, and he wouldn't have to deal with the brunette until tomorrow morning. Granted, Ken hadn't done too much to deserve the cold treatment... aside from sucking on his neck. Alright, so that was bad enough, but they'd both been drunk and.. 

            The coffee helped distract Ran from his thoughts as he placed his order for dinner.

            Ken kicked angrily at a chunk of ice on the sidewalk, hands stuffed in his pockets and the collar of his jacket up to keep out the brisk wind. An uncharacteristic frown had settled across his features, though he flashed a half-hearted smile and bowed his apology when he accidentally ran into an elderly lady. She glared at him and muttered something he couldn't understand in English for his efforts, probably something along the lines of, "Watch where you're going, schmuck." Maybe that's what he was. After all, as much as he hated to admit it, it was his fault that Ran had gone from somewhat gruff but silently happy to see him to a frozen, glaring block of animosity.

            "I'm such a moron," he muttered to himself, not even noticing that he spoke the Japanese words using the Portuguese word order. Granted, he'd been sort of drunk, but even so, why had he thought it'd be a good idea to flirt with Mr. Frosty? Being around easy-going people for the past while had given him time for safe introspection. He didn't think he was gay, but he distinctly had bi leanings. Being an assassin made you like someone for their personal integrity and personality, not their gender. He'd dated a few times back in Brazil, all girls, though he'd made out with a few guys when he'd been dragged out to parties. Alcohol made him less shy and less reserved, but it didn't make him stupid enough to actually sleep with anyone. Hidaka Ken was definitely a romantic deep down. Well, maybe not a romantic, he mused to himself, circling a bus stop a couple of times before continuing towards the hotel. But he definitely wanted someone that he felt comfortable with, someone that he could trust, and with a past like his it was hard. How the hell was he supposed to find someone in whom he'd be able to confide? There were just some things he couldn't tell a civilian, not if he wanted them to be safe.

            Ken huffed slightly, hunching his shoulders as the cold started to creep through. Maybe that was why his drunken subconscious had decided to hit on his old teammate. After all, Weiss were the only people who knew exactly what he'd been through. With an old teammate, he'd know he was safe, and there was no guilt in putting someone else in danger; they were all killers, danger was a part of daily life, even after the team had broken up.

            And why Aya? No, wait. It was Ran, now. Was it just because he was.. there? Because he was convenient? Ken certainly hoped he wasn't that much of a shallow prick. No, he couldn't be. Even Ken couldn't convince himself that he was that much of a jerk... So what was it? Maybe it had been the vibes he'd been getting from the redhead: a sort of empty loneliness, one that had been partially filled during Weiss. Now that they were scattered to all the corners of the world, Ken had found himself a new team, new friends, a new way to live. What had Ran found? He couldn't have picked a less personal business if he'd tried, nor one that was closer to what they'd done in the past. Ken had no doubts that Ran made an awesome bodyguard, and that he made a heap of money. The pricey clothes spoke for themselves. Ran had basically just withdrawn farther from the real world than when he'd been in Weiss. No one was around to force him into human interaction, and so he just didn't interact.

            Ken walked into the hotel, unzipping his jacket and rubbing his hands together to warm them, still lost in his thoughts. Ok, so his motivation had been the desire to coax Ran into human interaction? Partially selfish, because he wanted to be able to have an open relationship (of sorts) so that he could fill in that part of his life that wasn't getting fulfilled by coaching one of the world's best soccer teams. Now that he thought about it, it was a silly notion. He lived in Brazil now; Ran lived in New York City. It'd never work. Besides, despite what the redhead's body had been telling him last night, maybe Ran really wasn't interested in men, or more specifically, Ken. For all he knew, the redhead could be pissed because he was horrified by the prospect of getting closer to someone whom he had killed beside...

            Still lost in his thoughts, Ken opted for the stairs over the elevator, taking them two at a time. He hadn't gotten any physical activity since he'd flown in, and his body was starting to protest. Eleventh floor or not, he pushed himself into jogging all the way up. What was he going to do about the whole situation? It was starting to dawn that he'd probably messed up—No, wait. He hadn't messed up. If he remembered correctly, Ran had been very much enjoying the experience until he started to think about things. Ugh, this was such a mess. What he really needed to do was sit down with Ran and just talk things through, not that it'd be easy to knock any sense into the belligerent swordsman's pretty head. He only had a couple more days to work things out; the last thing he wanted was to go back to Brazil and leave things as uncomfortable as they now were. Ran was his friend, first and foremost. 

            A stubborn, blind, antisocial friend, but a friend nonetheless, and one that was hurting inside even if he'd never admit it. Yeah, this was definitely a mess.

            Ken pulled out his room key and pushed the door open, flipping on the lights as he leaned down to untie his sneakers. Habits like that died hard; he'd never get used to the Western custom of wandering around on nice carpeting with muddy shoes. Maybe he could get Ran's cell phone number through the bodyguard company and call him up? Nah, chances were that the redhead would just hang up on him. 

He was lost enough in his thoughts and relaxed enough from not needing to be on guard that his instincts didn't scream at him until it was too late. There was a hard jolt at his lower back and he couldn't help falling forward, only feeling the pain from the blow when his body hit the carpet. Shit. Baseball bat? Lead pipe? Something like that. It didn't feel like anything was broken but he'd been stunned, and his assassin training screamed at him to get the hell _up_. His body coiled to spring him back to his feet but then there was a knee in his lower back and Jesus _Christ_ the guy was heavy, there was no way Ken could budge him. A hand grabbed his hair and yanked his head up – almost hard enough to wrench his neck – and he found himself staring into a pair of hard green eyes.

"Diego." He spit the name out, chocolate eyes hardening in response. It would be this asshole, wouldn't it. The Argentinian grinned down at him, an ugly grin despite the other man's much-touted features and brilliantly white teeth.

"Good evening, Hidaka. I hope you didn't forget about me?"

Ken resisted the urge to sigh. The knee jabbing with the full force of some mammoth goon into one of his kidneys helped to quell the urge. 

"You're really makin' a big deal of this."

"It deserves to be a big deal. You should have known this wasn't over."

How long had it been, at least three months? Ken's team had been up against Argentina's. It was supposed to be a friendly match, though competition ran deep and both sides were playing less than clean. Ken had happened to see Diego, who was the Argentinian assistant coach, say something to one of his offense players, and within three minutes the same man had purposefully rammed himself as hard as possible into Ken's best defense player. 

"Yeah, it's not over. Alessandro's still limping." The player's ankle had snapped under the impact, and Diego had had the gall to clap his offense player on the back and share a laugh with him over the state of the Brazilian...

Ken had seen red and slugged Diego in the jaw, hard enough to almost dislocate it. The ref had pulled them apart but Ken should have known that Diego would try to get back at him. Anger was boiling back in his veins and he struggled, trying hard to budge the man behind him. All he got for his efforts was one arm wrenched back at a painful angle, making his shoulder spasm. 

"You fucking coward! What, you don't have the balls to fight me on equal ground?!"

"You've got a lot of fight in you, eh, Hidaka? Too much. See how much you have after we're done with you." Diego motioned to the goon, gesturing for something that Ken couldn't see though a cold chill traced its way down his spine, mixing with the pure boiling rage at being so damned helpless. If he only had his bugnuks...

"Goodnight," Diego hissed with a smirk, and then the goon pulled a length of plastic wrap over Ken's face and the brunette finally started to panic. Was the Argentinian stupid enough to actually kill him? He redoubled his efforts to get free but the man begind him was just too damned _big_ and Ken cursed his Japanese genetics, his tensed body going limp and his thoughts cutting off abruptly as he sank into unconsciousness.

*cough* Uh, don't hate me? o.o; It's my birthday today (let's hear it for groundhogs!) and I just couldn't resist the Ken-abuse. n_n; ::ducks a flying katana::


	6. chapter 6

Author's Babblings:  ^_^; I'd like to apologize for bastardizing Team Argentina, ne. I actually cheer for them, and Brazil tends to play dirtier than anyone else, in my personal opinion... But at any rate, 's how I ended up writing it, so I hope there's no hard feelings from anyone? I'm more likely to get beaten up for the Ken-abuse. X_x;

-+-  marsupial:  XD  Happy Birthday to you and your gramma! ::offers naked Kenken with a bow on top:: .x Er.. and I wouldn't share that with gramma, just to be safe...

-+-  Carter Tachikawa:  n_n; Someone liked mah pigeon scene! ::hugs:: Thanks for the b-day wishes. I'm not rushing to update, but I definitely need to keep the gears rolling so that I don't procrastinate too much on it.

-+-  siberian:  n_n Thanks again, and look, two people liked the pigeon! *ahem* I try to write the characters as in-character as possible, hence the lack of an uber-uke Ken. He's just too self-assured to be a weepy clinger-on. ^_~ Kinda like you'll never see my Ran/Aya spouting love poetry.

-+-  lise:  Aww, but he abandoned Ken for a good reason! ...if stubborness and Vietnamese food count. .; Hell, I think I'd be tempted to abandon Ken for Vietnamese food... n_n; 'specially since if he tagged along, he'd eat it all.

-+-  Katarzyna K Yue:  ;_; Aww, I don't get to get strapped to the bed and-- *ahem* I mean, uh, yay! x_o; Yeah, the one time Ken actually needs Ran to be there, he isn't? ^^; But it's kinda his fault, though Ran will get kicked if he rubs that in.

-+-  chibi koneko:  hehe Yeah, well, if I didn't put in a bit of plot, they'd just be angsting back and forth at one another? ^_~ But fear not, more angst is on the way (yeah, as if that's a surprise coming from me). After all, Ken has to get on the plane back to Brazil in a few days.... ::insert dramatic musical crescendo of DOOM!::

-+-  nauta iupiter:  Gah~! x_x Not the Aeneid all over again... "Arma virumque cano" must be the most famous Latin snippet. ^_~ That, and "Passer, deliciae meae puellae". Sorry for the cliffhangers, they're just good places to end. .; As for the weasel sex... ::drops two ferrets in a box together and shakes it up:: Tadaa! That's the best I can promise for now. The rest is in the stars. ^_^;

-+-  Kyri:  He might not have shiny armor (unless you count the Kevlar? which is kinda dull and pliable..) but he's definitely tall, angsty, and handsome? . ::waves the Ken Abusers Anonymous banner:: Hi, my name is Mags, and I like to torture brown-haired soccer bishounen.. x_o Hey, is that Nanjou Kouji over there..?

-+-  olivia-yuymaxwell:  n_n; Ken doesn't really need saving, just some Band-Aids and an ice pack and possibly someone to check out if he's got any internal bleeding... x_x;

-+-  Marty:  XD Dude, you and your monkey sex. *ahem* Should I even bother posting on the MLs? O.o; I didn't think people were reading it on there, since I've only gotten maybe.. two, three replies in the whole time I've been posting. 

Rating:  Good question. O_o... Low. Kiddie-safe.

Warnings:  Um, angst? Doom? More angst? n_n And it's way too short, but I needed to end it here or the next chapter wouldn't flow for shit.

//chapter 6//

            Click.

            "Goooooood~ morning Manhattan! This is the one, the only, DJ Mack Daddy here to bring a smile to your face! Of course, you're gonna need to keep smiling because it's one day to Christmas and you know you've still got shopping to do! But don't worry, all the stores are staying open extra-late 'cos you _know_ you're gonna be waiting in lines for hours! And you know what? That's better than being outside! Today the every-lovely Big Apple is gonna see a high of – ooh, get the bikinis out, ladies – 18 degrees, and we're predicting a huge blizzard for some point later today, but y'all know how those weather forecasters can be. Now onto the traffic repor---"

            Smack.

            The radio cut off with an angry screech and Ran glared at it for good measure. Why couldn't he ever wake up to music? It was always that same, obnoxious DJ, no matter how he adjusted his alarm clock setting. The man seemed to have an inner clock directly in tune with Ran's own. He reached over again and switched on his CD player. Mellow, subtly intense rock music filtered through the apartment and Ran slid out of bed, scuffling across the floor in his bunny slippers though this time he'd pulled a black bathrobe around his shoulders; the apartment was cold once more, he'd really have to get on the landlord's case. For the amount of money he was paying...

            *..coo?*

            Violet eyes blinked, staring down the fluffy bird perched on the windowsill. What, was this becoming a habit?

            "Go bother someone else." He pulled a take-out carton of cold Vietnamese noodles out of the fridge and a pair of chopsticks off of the dish rack, and sat down at the small two-person kitchen table. The pigeon tapped on the glass with it's beak.

            "Go away." Was he talking to a pigeon? This was definitely one for the records. The bird made another mournful sound and fluffed its feathers even more against the cold. Ran poked at the cold noodles, then sighed.

            "Alright, fine. Stop guilt-tripping me." He'd gone shopping the day before (one whole shopping bag worth of stuff... but who knew, maybe it'd last for a month or so) and opened up a box of corn flakes, shaking a few out onto a saucer. He didn't know what pigeons ate, but that seemed safe enough. Cracking the window brought with it a blast of freezing wind, but he left it half-open and watched for a moment as the pigeon began to earnestly peck at the cereal.

            Ran sat back down to his noodles, but couldn't quite bring himself to ingest them. They'd been much better last night, mild and warm and exactly what the winter weather called for, in his opinion.

            A pot of hazelnut coffee later, the redhead was feeling much better. The pigeon tried to edge its way into the apartment and Ran shooed it away, closing the window once more. He didn't feel like going to work, not with the tension in the air, but Charlie would probably have a coronary if Ran suggested he wasn't showing up again. 

            After a quick, cold shower, Ran didn't dress for the predicted blizzard. He pulled on a slim pair of white slacks and an immaculate white dress shirt, casting himself a sideways look in the mirror. What had Ken said about him being skinnier than he should have been? He turned a few times, violet eyes wandering over pale skin and toned muscle. Alright, so he didn't have any fat on him, but that didn't make him _too_ thin. Though maybe his collarbone stood out more than—Was that a hickey?!

            Manhattan was a mess, and all the side alleys in the world didn't get him to the hotel any faster. He had taken the motorcycle again, but this time kept warmer with gloves and a sleek dove-gray leather trenchcoat. 

            Ken wasn't waiting for him in the lobby, and Ran glanced down at his expensive watch. He'd always known the brunette to be punctual, and it was already fifteen minutes past the time when he'd been supposed to pick him up. Perhaps Ken had assumed that Ran was thoroughly stuck in traffic.

            The woman at the front desk smiled somewhat haggardly at the tall redhead, relieved that he wasn't asking anything more complicated than for her to call Ken's room. A minute passed, and she shook her head.

            "I'm sorry, sir, your client doesn't seem to be answering the phone."

            Violet eyes narrowed and Ran nodded his thanks, heading for the elevator. 

            He was still unsure about how to react to Ken after what had happened. The redhead had never been the best person in the world for dealing with emotions, whether his own or those belonging to others. And now his teammate had made a pass at him, and how was he supposed to process it? Ken would be heading back to Brazil soon, so it was impossible that he'd wanted anything more than a quick fling, and for some reason that hurt, struck a chord somewhere within where the ice couldn't quite reach after all the years of alienation.

            Ken had reached out, but he'd reached out for something with a time limit, and Ran didn't think he was the type of person who'd do well with that sort of experience to haunt him on his numerous lonely nights. The tone of Ken's voice and the faint glimmer of hurt in emotional brown eyes was already enough to nag at him.

            His thoughts cut off abruptly as he found himself standing in front of the door to Ken's room. Shaking his head to clear it, he lifted his hand and rapped his knuckles firmly against the wooden door.

            "Wake up, Hidaka. You're going to be late for the first meeting."

            Silence. Ran frowned and banged on the door more impatiently.

            "Hidaka, come on. I don't have time for this."

            More silence. Something started to nag at the back of Ran's mind and he reached to the small of his back, gloved hand closing around the Magnum and drawing it. A quiet click and it was cocked and ready to blast a huge hole in any material presented. Ran knocked on the door again.

            "Siberian, this is a direct order. Open the door or I'm going to shoot the lock in."

            Ken's world had been a black haze of disorientation and pain all through the night. He'd dipped in and out of consciousness, but every time the darkness had sucked him back down despite his desperate attempts to claw his way back into wakefulness. Something registered as different when he heard the first knock on his door.

            _Aya...?_

            "Hidaka, come on. I don't have time for this."

            Years of being apart couldn't break down the inherent need to obey Abyssinian's voice. Ran—no, Aya—had always kept them safe, had always made sure that they all made it out of a mission alive. There were times when his yelling was just hot air (plenty of times, in fact) but then there was that tone of voice, that no-nonsense knife edge to the deep, melodic voice that told him he'd be so much worm fodder if he didn't obey, and obey immediately.

            Dark lashes fluttered painfully open and Ken blinked at the wall. He was on his side, and as far as he could tell, he was still alive.

            "Siberian, this is a direct order. Open the door or I'm going to shoot the lock in." 

            Ken was right in what would be the line of fire.

            _If he shoots, I'm dead._

            Ken struggled to sit up, gasped as pain shot up into his lungs, coughed painfully. He tried to croak out something, anything to let Ran know that he was going to try getting to the door and failed as he launched into another lung-bursting bout of coughing. 

            "Do—Don't shoot..." he managed after a moment, leaning heavily on one arm as he tried to get his air back. It felt like his lungs had been tapdanced on by elephants.

            Or like his sides had been beaten for an extended period of time by an aluminum baseball bat, which was more likely.

            "Ken?" This time Ran's voice sounded less commanding and more worried. "Ken, can you get to the door?"

            Ken glanced down at himself, forcing himself to focus through the screaming pain to figure out what injuries actually lurked under the surface. At least he wasn't bleeding externally, nothing major anyway.

            "Yeah." He coughed once, dryly, and winced. "Just give me a minute."

            Standing up wasn't an option, not when his back felt as if it had been snapped in half. He managed to half-crawl, half-drag himself to the door and reached shakily for the handle, pulling it open with the last reserves of strength. 

            He was staring into the barrel of a nasty-looking gun, which quickly lifted and pointed over his head.

            "I'm.. pretty sure no one else is in here."

            Ran just stepped over him, body tense and movements fluid and silent as he checked out the room, going so far as to look under the bed, behind the curtains, in the closet, and in the shower stall. Finally satisfied that the room really was empty save for Ken, he tucked the gun back into his pants and shut the door, locked it, then quickly dropped to his knees.

            "Alright. What hurts?"

            Ken grimaced, leaning against Ran the moment that strong arms slid around him to offer more support than his own were giving him. 

            "Everything," he muttered. "But I don't think I'm gonna die. I just got the shit beaten outta me for the first time in a few years."

            Ran didn't seem to be listening. He kept Ken cradled back against his chest and strong, leather-gloved hands slid over his body, pressing here and there and listening to the various minor sounds of pain that the brunette made when something was sore.

            "I swear, Fujimiya, if you so much as hint at somethin' along the lines of 'I told you so'..."

            Violet eyes met brown, and Ken suddenly regretted his words. He felt like an ass for implying that Ran would be that much of an asshole but dammit, it wasn't that unlikely! The redhead had always gotten a kick out of proving how right he was and how wrong the rest of the world was in turn. There was a spark of something akin to hurt in the icy indigo gaze and then it was gone as Ran seemed to brush off the comment... or just tuck it away for later brooding, as was more likely.

            "You look like shit," Ran murmured. Somehow he made even a diss sound sexy; it was that damned voice, always deep and throaty. Wait, what the hell was wrong with him? Ken had just been beaten unconscious and probably gotten a few steps south of dying, and the first thing he was contemplating upon regaining consciousness was the sexiness of one Fujimiya Ran? Ugh. He really needed to get himself laid if things were getting that bad.

            Ken gathered his wits enough to shoot back something indignant, but then cool fingertips were trailing over his lower lip and any words he'd mustered died like any hope of thinking in his muddled brain. Somehow Ran had gotten the glove off one-handed and the pads of his fingers felt so soft and strangely comforting against the brunette's bruised lips...

            "You have a nasty split lip," was the comment. "And though nothing seems critical, you're bleeding all over my shirt."

            Trust Ran to be a complete and utter asshole right after he seemed to be actually caring.

            "Fuck you." Ken tried to shove him off but that just made his ribs throb. "You've bled all over me plenty of times, an' I never complained."

            "That was after missions." A moment of hesitation as Ran let go and Ken slumped angrily back against the wall. "...and I'm not complaining. Just stating a fact. Wait here."

            "Naw, I was gonna run a few marathons while you were gone." Ok, so the soccer coach was in a shitty mood. Waking up busted up did that to a person. Waking up busted up with a bitchy ex-partner to deal with didn't make things any better.

            He heard Ran rummage around in the bathroom and the sink running, and then the soft rustle of expensive clothing as Ran sank back to his knees next to the brunette. Something cold and rough pressed against the cut on his lip.

            "Ow!"

            "...Sorry. Hold still." One pale hand cupped his cheek and the other lightly dabbed at his bruised lip with the wet washcloth. His lip started to throb, but the cold felt good and he closed his eyes.

            "Hidaka. Stay with me."

            Brown eyes fluttered open again, and Ran uttered a silent sigh of relief. He wasn't used to seeing Ken look so vulnerable. Siberian had always been hot-tempered but if he was hurt, it was usually one of the other two that took care of him. And now he'd escaped the past to a degree, was actually living a life that didn't require his body to deal with this sort of abuse on a regular basis... Ran was jealous, on a level.

            "...'s not fair. I couldn't fight back." Something had shifted in Ken's eyes, and he was looking away. Come to think of it, Ran really was surprised that Ken was in the state he was in. Of all the members of Weiss, he'd been the most fit for fighting and undoubtedly the best at close contact.

            "Why not?"

            "Snuck up on me, an' they had a baseball bat. Couldn't do anything about it." Now anger was starting to flare up again. "Fuckin' cowards."

            "Who was it?"

            "This asshole from team Argentina an' his crew. He got one of his players to injure one of mine an' then had the gall to laugh about it, so I kinda jumped him on the sidelines and made him look like a wimp in front of a stadium fulla people..." An unmistakable, proud grin was creeping up. "Broke his nose."

            Ran sighed.

            "And he decided to get payback by beating you within an inch of your life?"

            "Yeah, well, he tried, but he didn't do a good job, ne? I've had worse beatings before. We've all had. Good for him he didn't know that." Ken shrugged lightly. "An' it was stupid, because they made me pass out first and only then started to lay inta me, so I don't get it. Unless they were just all paranoid of me makin' too much noise."

            "By screaming for help?"

            "Yeah, somethin' wimpy like that."

            Ran shook his head, a smirk threatening to tug at his lips. He kept it at bay.

            "You're something else, Hidaka."

            Ken grinned, holding the cold washcloth to his lip to keep it from bleeding on his shirt.

            "Yeah, so they tell me. Hey..." Brown eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward just a bit. Ran resisted the urge to lean away. A warm, pale finger settled against the side of his throat and Ran swallowed hard, trying to read what was going on in chocolate depths but found that he couldn't because they were focused elsewhere. "...did I leave that hickey?"

//end chapter 6//

I have a feeling that chapter 7 is going to be it for this fic. ^^; After all, the convention's gotta end some time and Ken's got a career back in Brazil.

But~ before I get overwhelming amounts of death threats and flames, I fully intend to do a sequel! ^^ So just bear with me, ne.


	7. chapter 7 postlogue

Author's Babbles:  ^_^ Well, here we are at the last chapter!  ::ducks sharp pointy objects and someone in a car with tinted windows::  You've all been wonderful, and I'm glad that there's so much interest in this fic, but regretfully I won't be able to do a sequel because— yeah, right.  ^_~ Sequel is already in the works, I love you guys too much to be that much of a horrid bitch, not to mention ruin all the lovely sexual tension I've been building up.  Though to be perfectly honest, it's been the reviews that have kept me writing this.  The fic's been a fickle bitch and I've had to force myself through each and every scene.  Curious about what happens in the next phase of this fic?  All the clue I'm going to give is that I'm learning about _jeitinho, cariocas, _and _saudade _in order to prepare for it.  How?  By reading a 500 page book.  -.-  The things I do for accuracy...  Also, I'm working with my favoritest co-dooming (heh it's not just RP anymore~) buddy on something that might eventually get published up here.  How many of you would be interested in seeing something epic set in ancient Egypt?  Featuring KenKen and Ayan, of course.   ::crickets chirp:: ...well. We'll see how it goes. o.o;

-+-  **Nauta Iupiter**:  ::huggie:: n_n  ::bad Russian/Pakistani/Caribbean gypsy accent::  This sequel that comes, it have many cliffhanger, just for you!  Is special this week, only cost me two dolla for each! *ahem*  No need to throttle me or kill me with _lingua latina_.  The sequel, she will'a get written.  And I wish there was something I could do to help with the obnoxious roomie...

-+-  **Katarzyna K Yue**:  XD  I'm still waiting for that whipping, or do you just plan to tease..?

-+-  **MooMooMilk**:  Aww, I'd never let Ken suffocate.  ...If I did that, who'd be left to abuse? *cough*

-+-  **Carter Tachikawa**:  You know, the conclusion honestly wasn't going to be thrilling at all.  It was going to be anticlimactic and a real downer.  ^^;  Then I smacked myself and wrote this.

-+-  **Shime**:  That's the spirit!  Death threats are a great motivator. XD

-+-  **Hakuryuu**:  ^_~;;  Hey!  Stop staring at my plot holes!  ::hides behind Diego and waves the pigeon as a distraction::  But you're right, I needed him though he didn't need to be in there, per se.  It came out more awkward than intended, but eh, writing is a learning process.  n_n  Maybe I'll recycle him at a later date so he doesn't look so much like what he is... a tool. .;

-+-  **Thespian Soldier**:  ^_^;  Someone cares more about my health than the fic! ...yeah, right. ^_~ huggies @ Sky~

-+-  **Marty**:  I toe the line of melodrama, but I try not to wade in it too often.  Angst, on the other hand...  Anyway, the ending of this chapter is all for you, since you're not getting your monkey sex. (I mean, Ran could technically back Ken into a bathroom somewhere and screw him within an inch of his life, and they'd both be a lot better off, but then there wouldn't be enough angst!)  BUT.  n_n  I promise at least one NC-17 chapter in the sequel~

Thanks also to Shavika, marsupial, and Corrupt Prodigy for the reviews. ^_^

/Everywhere I go I see your face

Every sound I hear is the sound of your voice

Why are you haunting me? Why can't I let you go?

So everything about me is a lie,

At least it seems that way when I look in your eyes.

The truth scares the shit out of me.../

            ~Stabbing Westward, "Haunting Me"~ 

//chapter 7//  

            Ran turned several interesting shades of pink, which caused Ken to laugh, which caused him to start coughing painfully, which caused Ran to have something to focus on other than his own embarassment. He grumbled something about it serving Ken right and that got him a glare for his efforts.

            Weiss had left several deep imprints in its wake, and they worked flawlessly together to get Ken cleaned up. Ran turned around politely while Ken changed – amidst colorful curses in Portuguese that the redhead was vaguely glad he couldn't understand – into clean clothes, and then it was back to the convention. Ken was hurt, yeah, but not hurt enough that he'd let Diego win by hiding out, as if scared of what else the Argentinian might do.

            "Hey, Ran?" Ken paused outside of the conference room, turning fully to face the taller man since just looking over his shoulder was going to pull on very irate back muscles. "Don't go after Diego when I'm in the meeting."

            Ran had actually been planning on it. It was uncanny how well his teammate could read him, even after all this time. He cleared his throat.

            "Of course. I'll wait for you."

            Ken just shook his head, giving him a rueful little half-smile. One dimple appeared, appealing despite the bruises.

            "Nah. I'll just make sure my team kicks his ass so well at the next match that he doesn't have the balls to try hurting one of my players again. That's all that matters." He shrugged lightly. "Not that I wouldn't love t' put my fist through his face, not that 's not what my instincts are telling me to do... but it'd just perpetuate the childishness. I'm gonna handle this like a man." A brighter grin, and he disappeared amidst a small sea of people making their way into the room.

            Ran blinked. Ken had done a lot of growing up, but.. was that really the right way to handle this? Wasn't he just encouraging the Argentinian to worse actions by not pounding the shit out of him and proving once and for all that such foolishness wasn't going to be accepted? Still, it wasn't his decision. A smirk settled in place. He'd heard the expression "fist through face" before, but of all the people who had uttered it, only Siberian would actually be able to physically make that happen.

            And oddly, the thought brought with it a strange, twisted sensation of fondness.

            "Ken! Jesus, what happened to you?"

            The brunette shrugged lightly, flashing a grin at the concerned head coach. He settled into his chair and ran a hand through his hair, which promptly flopped back into his eyes. He'd have to let Roberto hack at it again when he got back home...

            Falling down the stairs? Naw, he'd never buy that...

            "Bar fight," he lied smoothly. The fact that he could now lie smoothly never settled well. "One too many an' some asshole let his mouth run, an' the one too many meant that I didn't size him up right. So I got my ass kicked."

            "Like you'd ever get your ass kicked, Ken." The older man was giving him a real good once-over, as if trying to gauge the extent of the damage with just his eyes. He'd need x-ray vision if he wanted to accomplish anything useful, though; Ken had made sure to put on a baggy sweatshirt with a high collar.

            Both dimples flashed this time, and he winked.

            "Hey, weirder things have happened."

            The conference wound down to an early close. The delegates had all been irritated that it ran into a major holiday from the start, and all of them were too busy grumbling about not being with their families to get much accomplished at this point anyway. Still, politics had shifted and money had exchanged hands – or bank accounts, rather – and though nothing seemed to have been overtly accomplished, there was a general feeling of good will and mutual understanding only emphasized by the holiday season.

            Ran waited outside, straddling the sleek bike. It was a heavy, warm presence against the insides of his thighs, the purring of the engine vibrating through his whole body. Ken seemed distracted as he climbed on the back. This time they didn't sit in traffic long on the way to the hotel; people were home now, spending the day with their families. Ran was looking forward to a long walk around Central Park with a tall cup of coffee in hand, and then the oppressive seclusion of his own apartment.

            Holidays weren't meant for people who had no one to spend them with.

            He waited outside while Ken packed up. It didn't take the brunette more than ten minutes: he'd been living out of his suitcase anyway. He hadn't been in New York long enough to unpack and make himself at home. Ken jogged back outside with an absent smile, duffel bag over one shoulder. Ran tried to not pay the arm around his waist much heed on the way to the airport. It was almost like a prolonged hug... No, he wasn't going to think about it.

            JFK was busier than Ran would have expected. It was way too late for last-minute travel, but no one else seemed to realize that. Frowning faces made their way around the terminals. No one was happy about traveling on a holiday, and even the overly-cheery Christmas music didn't do anything to alleviate the overwhelming vibes of irritation buzzing through the steel-and-concrete halls.

            Since it was the holiday season everything was running late, including the two men trying to get Ken to his plane on time. It was fitting, then, that there was a problem first with Ken's duffel bag – one of the airport security guards seemed convinced that it was a Suspicious Item and that Ken (innocent face, bruises, and all) was a Suspicious Person – and then with his passport – why would a Japanese citizen have a Brazilian passport? And why hadn't he gotten a visitor's visa on his way into the States? And why did he hold a certificate of diplomacy if he wasn't a politician? – and then with his ticket – seat 44B? No, someone was already in that. Yes, they understood that Ken had made reservations months ago, but this woman had forgotten to include her two-year-old in the reservations and really, it'd be inhuman to make her travel the whole way with the child on her lap, didn't he agree? – and Ran just played the passive role of the interpreter that he was paid for, his irritation dampened by a strange feeling that had settled low in the pit of his stomach.

            "You ever get the feeling that something's tryin' it's damndest to keep you from going where you need to go?"

            Violet eyes blinked and turned to look at the brunette. Ken, for his part, was leaning against one of the building's support columns, staring at the half-empty bottle of orange juice in his hand.

            "Not really, no." Ran's life had flowed seamlessly since his arrival in the States years back. Seamlessly and predictably, but then, that was how he had wanted it to be. He had set his mind to having his life shape itself a certain way, and life had bent itself to his will.

            "Figures."

            Ran looked up sharply at that, but Ken was still looking at the bottle, tan fingers peeling the label off of the orange juice. For some reason the repetitive motions were an irritant to Ran, and he looked away.

            A female voice announced that boarding was starting, and listed off the rows that were meant to start getting on the plane. Ken looked over his shoulder at the people disappearing into the cavernous tunnel that led to the airplane.

            "I hate flying, you know. 's not right, not having the ground right under your feet where you know where it is." He tapped one sneaker against the terminal floor to demonstrate his point.

            Ran shrugged lightly.

            "It's safer than driving a car."

            "Yeah, but with a car, you have control. With a plane, your life's in the hands of a sleep-deprived man and computers." Ken grinned lightly. Boarding continued in the background, and a child started wailing as its mother dragged it towards the plane.

            "You don't like not being in control?"

            This time it was Ken who shrugged.

            "Depends on the situation. Everyone needs to give up control once in a while, 's exhausting to keep a tight grip on things all the time."

            Brown eyes glanced up, and Ran found himself sinking into a world of warm, deep mahogany and layered meanings. He wasn't meant to take Ken's words at face value, and looking into the other man's eyes, it was impossible to not feel the familiar tension from earlier.

            Ken's row was called and the brunette broke eye contact, chugging back the rest of the orange juice and tossing the empty bottle unerringly into a recycling bin several feet away.

            "I guess I'll see you around, ne?"

            The brunette stuck his hands in his pockets and smiled, brown eyes guarded and hiding his thoughts where they usually professed them loudly.

            "I suppose so. Goodbye, Ken."

            Ran offered his hand, and Ken shook it slowly.

            "Bye, Ran. Thanks for..." He shook his head. "Just thanks."

            He turned around and headed for the terminal. Ran looked down at his hand. It still tingled from the shorter man's warm grip, as if he'd somehow branded the imprint of his hand onto Ran's palm.

            He wasn't going to see Ken ever again. The fact hadn't entered his mind before but now it slammed into him with a sure finality that made something within him twist sharply. Ken had a life back in Brazil, a life that didn't include guns or danger or lies. The only thing he had to keep a tight grip on was lies about the past, and the only danger he faced was from lukewarm villains like Diego, the impolite Argentinian who didn't even know how to properly beat somebody half to death.

            And Ran had his life, too, a new life in which he threw his body as a physical shield to protect overpaid, overfed politicians and dignitaries and businessmen, a life in which getting shot at was still a possibility, a life in which he kept his own feelings neatly suppressed by being a machine, a translator. Extracurricular activities were all philanthropic and impersonal; he had a lot of money and nothing to spend it on, why not give it back to the city that kept him effectively hidden from Kritiker, who still contacted him in an attempt to lure him back to the same life he'd lived in Weiss?

            Ken was waiting in line, one hand absently lifting to rub at ribs that were still sore. Ran's mind jolted back to the night in the club: a warm, wet mouth against the side of his throat, searing a mark into suddenly-overheated pale skin. Ken's body pressed back against his, Ken's voice soothing and unassuming in his ear.

            Ken's grip releasing, the brush of lips leaving his skin to be replaced by a chill emptiness. Ken's dark eyes hooded as he told Ran that it was time to leave.

            Ran was falling. His world had been so tidy and organized and then Ken had to show up, throwing it all violently out of balance with his easy smiles, with the comfort that was waiting for Ran in those incredible eyes if he only took the first step. Ken, who knew his past in explicit detail and wouldn't judge him for it because his own past was just as scarred. Ken, who wouldn't offer false sympathy if Ran wanted help to heal old scars, just a constant, loyal presence like a balm against old fears and old lies.

            "_Ken_..."

            He didn't ralize he'd said the name out loud, and he certainly didn't hear the almost anguished tone underscoring it into an exclamation. Ken turned around, casting him a worried look as he jogged a bit closer.

            "Ran..?"

            Brown eyes widened as the redhead closed the remaining steps between them with two quick strides and a pale hand fisted in the front of his shirt.

            "Ran, what the hell are you—"

            And then Ran hauled him roughly closer and his lips found Ken's, and his brain shut down abruptly as his body trembled just to be that close to the brunette's. Warm velvet, soft and pliant and inviting... Ken untensed against him and someone – he couldn't even keep track anymore -- deepened the kiss, and Ran was completely lost in a world of warmth and sugar tinged around the edges with the flavor of unnaturally sweeted oranges.

            Ken's hand crept into his hair and he shivered again, one arm sneaking around the brunette's waist to splay against the small of his back and pull him closer. He was distantly aware of the buzz of the crowd and the fact that they were in a public place. It was New York and no one would be too horribly shocked but they were still kissing in the middle of an airport terminal and it was so bizarre and felt so.. damned... good...

            "Last boarding call for flight 848 to São Paulo."

            Ran had the distinct feeling that the announcement was purely for Ken's benefit. The brunette tensed and pulled back and Ran let him go, lifting his eyes slowly as Ken stepped completely out of the circle of his arms, the warmth pressed against him only seconds ago now a stride away.

            Ken lifted a hand to his lips, brown eyes flooded with feelings that Ran couldn't read, and shook his head in exasperation.

            "Jesus Christ, Ran. _Now_ you make up your fucking mind? _Now_?!"

            "I..."

            "Shut up."

            Ken's arms were around his neck in a desperate hug and he didn't know how to respond until it was too late and Ken had pulled back once more.

            "Damn you, Fujimiya." There wasn't an ounce of malice in Ken's words, just a dull note of pain that made Ran instantly regret his actions. "You better call me, or I'm gonna fly out here and kick your ass."

            And then he was gone, disappearing down the makeshift tunnel. Ran watched the plane taxi out onto the runway, hands shoved deeply into his pockets of his overpriced pants and his lips still tingling from the kiss.

            Ken had fallen back into his life and now he flew back out of it, just like that.

            Ran shook his head to try to clear it, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get the corners of his lips to creep back down. He wore the silly half-grin for the rest of the day and when he got back to his apartment, he'd found that his landlord had fixed the heating in time for Christmas.

//end chapter 7//

--+--

//postlogue//

            "_Tio_!"

            Ken looked up, the familiar little voice calling him 'uncle' bringing an instant smile to his lips. He had plenty of warning to drop to one knee.

            "Tiotiotiotiotiotiotio!!!"

            Ken laughed as a dark-haired five-year-old projectile threw herself into his arms, practically strangling him with the surprising strength of her little arms.

            "I guess I don't have to ask if you missed me, eh, María?" 

            She shook her head, dark ponytails bobbing with sincerity. "Nuh-uh. 'cos you _know_ I missed you! Papa's been making me wear dresses!"

            Ken chuckled, noting the blue-grey foam 'crown' that he'd brought back was firmly planted on her head. Slower footsteps caused him to look up.

            "Welcome back, Ken."

            "Hey, Bruno. Life's been good?"

            "Yeah, but too quiet without you. And the little one's been complaining about not being able to see her 'tio Ken' every day since you've been gone. It's been driving Luiza to distraction."

            Ken grinned, standing back up with the little girl still wrapped around him like some strange type of growth. Bruno nudged her out of the way long enough to pull Ken into a rib-crushing hug. A huge, dark-tanned hand ruffled his hair, and Ken winced.

            "Oi!"

            "It's good to have you back home, Ken."

            Brown eyes crinkled in another smile and Ken took a deep breath of hot, tropical air.

            "It's good to be home." But he couldn't help letting his thoughts stray to the contrast of the north-east, cold air and cold eyes and a startlingly warm kiss. "It's good to be home," he repeated, almost as if trying to convince himself of the fact.

//end postlogue//

//end "Running Away"//

n_n  Thanks once again to everyone who's taken the time to read this ficcie.  I hope it wasn't too much of a disappointment in light of the fact that it's only one part of something much bigger.  I can't promise how soon I'll have the first part of the sequel out; I need to finish doing a lot of research for it and iron out more details, but hopefully I'll be able to get it out within the month. 

~Ko'~


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